The Delicious Mistakes were mine.
Growing up, i didn’t have any stable relationships to look upon ~ just a blur of yelling, slammed doors and walking on eggshells. A child of divorce, of chaos, of people who only knew how to leave or break things when they stayed. Love was survival. Silence was safety. I learned that if i made myself small enough, quiet enough, maybe i’d get to keep the peace. Maybe i’d get to stay.
But i never had a voice. Not really. I had whispers. I had apologies. I had questions i never asked out loud because i already knew the answer was rejection. I stayed silent while people talked over me, lied to me, left me. And i let them ~ because i didn’t know i was allowed to be angry. Or even worse, i tried to not be like them as much as i could.
When someone asked me why i kept going on all those dates, i should’ve said: “Because i wanted to be loved. And none of you ever fucking did it properly.” I kept unintentionally choosing people who mirrored my past inconsistent, avoidant, cruel. Because that kind of love felt familiar. Felt like home. Felt like fucking hell.
My biggest mistake wasn’t loving the wrong people ~ it was believing i wasn’t allowed to ask for more. That i had to earn that softness. That i had to be quiet to be kept. I was waiting for someone to choose me. But no one ever came. They just used me for my house, my body and my time. Used me until they were done. Then left me with the mess. My biggest regret in life was waiting around for someone that toyed with me. Stole my younger years and then discared me like i meant nothing all along. This lead me into the darkest place i’ve ever been. And i thought it was my fault for asking one simple question. But i was a kid ~ i didn’t know how to scream yet.
Now i do.
So yeah, i made myself smaller. Silent. Good. Until i wasn’t. Until the silence rotted my insides and i realised ~ they never gave a fuck about the girl i was trying to be. So what the fuck was the point? I don’t owe anyone palatability. I am not writing this to make people uncomfortable. I am telling the truth. So if its rage? I am going to let it roar. This isn’t a rhetorical question…it is a wound begging to be seen. Nothing about this is sweet and soft.
Rage was the fire that burned it all down. And in the ashes, i finally saw myself.
Growing up is realising that every single mistake was worth it ~ even the ones that destroyed me. I wouldn’t take a single one back. Because the truth is, the longer i lived afraid of what others thought, the smaller i became. I tried to outrun the mess, hide the heartbreak, silence the parts of me that felt like too much. But all i ever did was keep me from myself. Now, i know better. Now, i choose me. Again and again and again ~ i choose me.
Because in their wreckage, i found pieces of myself i didn’t know was missing. Because even the worst heartbreak cracked something open in me ~ and something softer bloomed.
So, heres to the delicious mistakes. The ones that shaped me the most.
Loving someone who called it love ~ until i asked for more.
Staying too long ~ because i mistook suffering for strength.
Saying “its fne” ~ when i was breaking on the inside.
Shrinking myself ~ because i thought it made me easier to love.
Dimming my sparkle ~ so i wouldn’t outshine anyone else.
Not having a voice ~ because i was scared of the answer.
Speaking too softly ~ because i didn’t think i was allowed to take up space.
Forgiving too quickly ~ cause i didn’t want to be left behind.
Laughing it off ~ even when it hurt
Lowering my standards ~ just to be chosen.
Those mistakes? They weren’t flaws in the story. They were the story. They taught me softness, and strength. They showed me what i was not, so i could become who i am. They led me here ~ to this moment, to this becoming, to this quiet reclamation of my own life.
So no, i wouldn’t erase a single thing. The chaos. The heartbreak. The choices that made people whisper. Because all of it, all of it, brought me home to myself.
And maybe thats the point ~ not perfection but presence. To live. To feel. To fuck it all up. To rise. To love again. Louder. Deeper. Wiser. To walk forward, not in spite of it all ~ but because of it.
Here’s to the delicious mistakes. And the woman i became through them.
“I may think of you softly from time to time. But i’ll cut off my hand before i ever reach for you again.” - Arthur Miller
Always, in the glow of honey and moonlight
xx
Mon